The Unwanted
by mwaha123
Summary: Everybody knows the Socs, the Middle Class, and the Greasers... at least in public. However, nobody knows about us. We live in the worst parts of town. We are abandoned, unable to reach for the bright light known as hope. We are... the Unwanted.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders

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There are the Greasers, the Middle Class, and Socs.

Then there's us… the Unwanted.

It's funny how the Greasers, the Middle Class, and the Socs never notice us when there're more of us than them. We walk around in the same streets, begging for change and food, but their eyes pass by us. They don't want to see us. They don't even want us in the same city as them.

Why?

Because we're "dirty."

We live in the back alleys, brothels, street corners, and basically any place that looks like trash. We sell ourselves for money so that we can live another day. We dig trash bins for food that they've thrown out and forgotten. We steal money, jewelry, and anything worth of value whenever there's a chance. We do anything for our survival.

We show the dark and disgusting parts of humans.

But we never wanted to be this way.

_Nobody would. _

However, the Greasers, the Middle Class, and Socs stick up their noses and say that we could've been one of them if we'd tried harder. If we were more pure and innocent, they would've accepted us and helped us to become one of them.

That's bullshit.

How were we supposed to stay innocent when we had to learn the "dirty" side from the day we were born?

Abandoned at orphanages when we were babies and never adopted, as children, we already knew the harsh side of life. Adults didn't care for anyone other then their own kin. We were nothing more to them than pests that needed to be removed.

This was further proven when the orphanage matron kicked us out onto the streets at the age of twelve. Even when the law stated that they couldn't kick us out until we were of age, which is seventeen.

So much for the pure and innocent side adults proclaimed to have.

Hypocrites.

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Tell me what you think XD


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders

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Today was my first day of elementary school. At nine years old and starting at grade three.

Why was I starting at grade three and not at grade one like the other normal kids did?

Simple, the orphanage matron didn't want to waste money. She barely fed us enough with two meals a day. She wasn't going to send us to school if she could help it. She loved her money. If she could earn a few cents, she would do anything, short of selling her soul to the devil.

So instead, she devised a plan, a plan as clever as she could make with her miniscule brain.

Every year, when school started, she would gather all the children with ages ranging from five to seven in the dining hall, which we called the glop hall. (The stuff we ate there looked a cross between a dead rat's fur and moldy jello. Thus the name glop.) And she'd start, first gathering up the remaining phlegm she had in her throat and spitting it onto her dress.

"Are all you brats here?" She'd ask, her nasally voice echoing in the completely silent orphanage.

Nobody answered.

"Good," she said, looking at her perfectly primed nails, "If any of you were missing, I'll send you to the dark room."

We paled.

The dark room was basically a jail cell with no lights, insufficient air, and an abundance of rats, mice and spiders. It was frightening trying to stay there for more than an hour. A rumor was that Sheldon, the slow kid who couldn't wear her clothes properly, much less read, had lost her mind down at that room because the matron forced her in there for too long. None of us wanted to be like that.

The matron continued, "So, as all of you know, you aren't going to elementary until you're grade three." She frowned angrily, "Even if I don't want to waste my money on you, I have to send you there because of the law. So you'd better thank me with your heart cause I'm paying my precious funds for my clothes to send you for your education."

Anderson coughed.

"What?" She screeched, looking directly at Anderson.

Anderson trembled. "Nothing ma'm."

She glared at Anderson. "It'd better not be or you'll spend a week outside the orphanage."

Anderson nodded frantically.

"I don't understand why I have to send you to school. You brats won't become successful like I am," she said haughtily, "but I suppose you brats can try." She brought out a bag from underneath a table. The bag was square shaped and seemed about to break from the weight.

"These are the books that the other children are learning. The orphanage inspector insisted I teach them to you brats if I didn't send you to school, but I'm not going to. You brats can learn or not. It doesn't matter to me."

She slammed the books on the table and walked away to her room. Everybody else left, glad that the meeting was over. Nobody bothered to glance at the books, they were busier planning out their afternoon, everybody but me.

I walked over to the table.

The books were both new and old. New because they looked as if they were never used, their bindings not cracked open with those hideous lines that old books have, but old in that their outer pages were yellowed by the sunlight. They were like a plague people avoided, something so repulsive that they didn't even bother to dust it, nevertheless crack it open.

But I knew that it was useful for something. I'd noticed the subtle difference between the Greaser, Middle Class, and the Socs. Greasers wore tan leather jackets that looked as if it had gone through a fight and Socs wore clothes that gleamed in the sunlight. Why? – because the Socs had more money – Why? – they were smarter than others.

I dragged the heavy books to my portion of the room, the space my bed occupied. Carefully, I hid it underneath the broken floorboard flap below my bed. I didn't trust anyone in the orphanage to not vandalize my things. We all lived in the same room and things tended to go missing from time to time, especially my things.

From then on, instead of dumbly staring at other kids playing, I toiled through the books. I didn't know what the words meant, I didn't know what the weird + and – symbols were, but I persevered. After all, I didn't have any friends to distract myself with.

After my sixth birthday, I was able to read and understand everything in the books that the matron left. My brother Brumley and the librarian helped me a lot with this, but it was mostly the librarian. Asking my brother questions was like practicing procrastination. As soon as my brother sat next me, we would start talking about other things that weren't related to the books. Then when we did start, we'd get into a fight. He usually called me stupid at least twenty times a session and I'd call him incompetent. Nothing was ever achieved

Unlike my brother, the librarian helped me with the books I took. She liked to teach me English the most, saying that she'd gotten an English degree when she was younger. Whatever that meant. But I loved it when she read me books like The Three Little Pigs, Cinderella, or The Chronicles of Narnia; I could almost imagine I wasn't an orphan.

As I grew older, I received the books he'd "borrowed" (stolen at the risk of a caning) from school and learned the material from them. So unfortunately for the matron, I was going to succeed in my life. I wasn't going to let anyone beat me, physically or mentally.

That was why I was attending my first day of school along with the crowd of Unwanted, Greasers, Middle class, and Socs surrounding me. And they were freaking me out. The kids were chattering like crazy and this very, very hyper boy named Ponyboy (Who the hell named that kid's name anyway) was sitting close to me like there was nothing wrong and chatting my ear off. I tried shifting away from him, but _nooo_ he shifted even closer to me, adamant about talking to me when there were a million other kids around us.

He said, bouncing on the seat of his chair, as if he was a hyperactive dog waiting for a treat, "My name's Ponyboy. Do you live in Tulsa? Are you a greaser? I'm a greaser and so is my family and it's so cool to be here. What's your name? Do you know anyone? I know some people, but my brother Sodapop (Again, who the hell names their kid Sodapop?) said that I'll make a lot more friends than last year because more people come in during this time." He then looked at me expectantly, as if I was going to answer all those questions as well as remember them.

"My name's Alan." I said simply, not bothering to try and answer his questions.

Undeterred, he asked, "Why do you have half your hair covering your face?"

I froze.

"Can I remove it?"

I glared at him sharply. "No," I said venomously.

Ponyboy blinked. "Okay," he said, his smile dropping and his expression becoming neutral. I was slightly surprised, most kids started to cry when I told them off in that tone. Instead, he continued, a smile lighting up his face once more, "I guess you like long hair then. My brother Sodapop has long hair too. I wish I had as long hair as he did, but my mom keeps chopping it off. If I had long hair, do you think I'll look as tuff as he did? Darry has short hair though, I think he wants to try and look like a Soc." We both made faces at this.

"Ha!" Ponyboy said suddenly, "Your face can change!"

I stared at him blankly.

"Oh it went back." Ponyboy said disappointedly.

_What the hell?_ I thought.

He opened his mouth to say more, but was interrupted by the teacher rapping her ruler against the table. To say I was relieved by the interruption would've been an understatement. Ponyboy – the boy with a screw loose in his head – had finally stopped talking, as did the rest of the class.

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. _Thank god_.

The teacher started, "Hello class, my name is Ms. Richard and I want to welcome you to grade three. I see many new faces, including many people from a variety of social backgrounds, but I want you all to get along." She smiled, "Do you understand?"

Everybody chorused, "Yes Ms. Richard!" but me. It invoked a questioning look from Ponyboy. I ignored it. I crossed my arms and slunk down into my chair. I did not want to listen to Ms. Richard's annoying voice and her load of bullshit. There was no way a teacher, especially one who looked like a Soc, who would ever welcome the interaction of different social backgrounds. Instead, I stared at Alice, Bradley, Gordon, and Clara, fixing them with my lone blue-eyed stare.

They were my supposed _family,_ including the fifty others in the orphanage. Although by definition in the dictionary, family meant: a group of people related by blood or marriage. And we were definitely not related to each other. No mother would go through that pain to bear fifty kids and raise them. I mean my mother threw me away, whether because I was a deviation or was too much trouble, I'd never know, but she did. So in my "family's" definition, family was slightly different and even more so for me. It was always different for me.

Alice was the first to notice that I was staring at her and nudged Clara, whispering something into her ear. Clara, who was listening attentively to the teacher until now, suddenly widened her eyes like a rabbit caught in headlights and glanced at me.

I sneered at her.

She flinched back.

_What a coward_, I thought and snorted softly.

The bell rang when the clock struck two. I was dying of boredom by the time it did. The teacher kept on saying that "You children should get along," in different sentences as if she didn't know what else to talk about. She probably didn't, she was a Soc, a rich Soc, by the looks of the expensive watch she had on her wrist. Ponyboy's questions were more interesting that the stuff she spewed out from her mouth, at least his had variety.

I stretched as an assembly of the kids in the room ran out. I rolled my eyes. The idiots I had for classmates had no patience at all. Didn't they know that patience was a virtue? Why run when you could walk out without any kids running into you?

Slowly, I walked to the entrance of the school doors, taking my time to look at the walls of the school. There were pictures of headmasters eerily staring down and happy paintings that looked like crap. Those ones that used a mush of bright, pastel colors that were stacked upon each other that they looked like a messed up burger. Happy paintings, creepy paintings, old walls, new doors, the whole school looked like a contrast of black and white, especially the entrance door and the peeling walls. The door was made of wood that was used for church door, all shiny and new looking. While the walls looked like somebody had puked on it.

Suddenly, I head footsteps behind me and I whirled around, my hands fixed in a fighting stance. People liked to sneak up on me and it never hurt to be prepared. But nobody was charging towards me, all I found was a reddish brown haired boy inspecting the door as I was. On closer inspection, I found that it was the hyperactive child, Ponyboy.

"Oh, its you." I said.

Ponyboy smiled and walked up beside me. But unlike in the classroom, he didn't say anything; he just stood there looking at me. I waited for him to do something but he didn't do anything at all. Slightly annoyed that he'd called my attention for no reason, I contemplated on punching his face. However, since he didn't actually do anything to me, I decided to play nice for once and ignore the boy. I continued on walking towards the school gates. His footsteps continued behind me.

Irritated, I walked faster.

His footsteps matched mine a second later.

I started running.

He started to run too, and boy, did the boy ever have wings for legs. He caught up to me by the time I reached the gates and I had to stop.

"Wh-a" – pant – "Do" – pant – "Y-you" – pant – "want?" I panted for breath, my lungs felt as if it was on fire.

"I'm gonna hang out with you." He said.

I stared at him blankly, still hunched over.

He smiled.

I huffed. "Fine, what" – pant – "ever." There was no point in saying no. The boy would catch up to me if I tried to out run him. And even if I beat him up to chase him away, his brothers might come after me and beat me up in retaliation, probably a lot more than the damage I did to the boy. I wasn't stupid.

With as much dignity as I could muster after looking like a pathetic weakling I straightened up. Walking in the pace of an experienced newspaper deliverer, I lead him through the winding pathways from the middle class area to the greaser area. He matched my pace perfectly, never going away, much to my annoyance.

The streets became littered with cans, paper, and garbage and the houses became more dilapidated as we neared the center of greaser territory. Probably because greasers cared more for the usefulness of the place they lived in than the pristine environment that the middle class and the Socs prized.

I paused and looked back. Ponyboy was still following me and not a word escaped from his mouth.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

I blinked.

He blinked too.

"Look," I said.

Ponyboy interrupted, "I don't know how to get back to my house."

I paused and worked my jaw. "You don't know how to get back to your house." I said through my clenched teeth.

"Nope." He said, looking slightly abashed, as he should.

I inhaled deeply and sighed. "Then why did you follow ME?" My voice raised a pitch higher on the last word.

"I was bored." He said innocently.

Pah! As if he was innocent. He'd probably done it to bother me. I wanted to punch his face so badly, but for some reason, my hand didn't obey my orders, like rebels don't obey dictators, instead my mouth, without my consent said, "I'll take you. Where do you live?"

He crossed his eyes and chewed his lips, for the first time looking flustered. "I live near the DX station, my house is about three blocks from there. We have a huge apple tree next to it." And added, "I think.

I turned and started to walk towards Ponyboy's house; I knew where he was talking about. I'd occasionally steal some apples from the apple tree when the matron had been less than benevolent. The place was only a few blocks from here, past the high school and the huge field.

Ponyboy followed me, but instead of trailing behind me as he did before, walked beside me.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

I ignored him.

"Do you live in the middle class-"

"No!" I shouted, "I'm an unwant-" I clamped my mouth with my hands.

Ponyboy looked confused. "So you're not middle class?"

"No."

"Are you a greaser then?"

I walked faster and hid my face as I stuttered, "y-yeah."

I sucked at lying, but I had to. We had an unwritten code that Greasers, Middle Class, and Socs could not learn about our existence. My brother Brumley had said that because the Unwanted were even lower than Greasers. If the Middle Class, Socs, or even Greasers knew about us, we'd be treated less than dirt, so it was of empirical value that we didn't speak of it. Besides, the unwanted were similar to Greasers. We just had no money, no home, and crappy guardians.

Ponyboy didn't seem to sense anything wrong. "Then I guess you live close to me," he said, "C'mon, tell me where you live."

I glared at him, "No."

If I'd told him where I lived, not only would he know that I had no parents, but the fact that I had no money. Then, he'd be like the others, pitying or despising me. And for some reason, I didn't want to chase him away like I did at the start of class.

"Ponyboy, why were you sitting next to –" I was interrupted by a blonde haired, blue eyed boy barreling toward us.

He screamed, "Poooooooonnnnnnyboy!"

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Thank you for reading XD

Please tell me what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders

* * *

Did crazy people attract crazy people? Without a second thought, I dodged to the side, getting away from the path of collision. However, Ponyboy stood there.

Ponyboy huffed, "Soda, c'mon," and looked exasperated. But the blond haired boy didn't stop, he barreled right into Ponyboy, smashing into each other with such force that they flew – I winced – and rolled down the grassy hill we were climbing. They landed with a 'thunk'.

"Oww." Ponyboy said rubbing his head. "Did you really have to do that Soda?"

"Course, you're my kid brother!" Sodapop said, rubbing Ponyboy's fine hair.

Behind me a voice said in a bored tone, "Soda, you're someday gonna squish that kid so much with your hugs, he's gonna become flat as a pancake."

I whirled around, surprised. I didn't notice that there was a boy behind me. I was so horrified by the brotherly-love-that-could-kill that my honed "people sensor" didn't pick up the anomaly. A boy, taller than the one that had barreled into Ponyboy, with brown hair in complicated swirls stood behind me holding what I could only tell was a hubcap.

_Another crazy one_, I thought.

The boy tossed the slightly rusted hubcap next to Soda and sat down beside the boy.

"No, I'm gonna fill my kid brother with so much brotherly love, he'll be fine." Soda said, his smile stretching so much that it covered half his face.

Ponyboy, the tall boy, and I shuddered. The fantasy that Soda was living in was _way_ too much for us. As I inched away from the boys, the tall boy gagged, and Ponyboy looked like he wanted to inch away from Soda but was afraid to do so – I felt sorry for Ponyboy.

Soda grinned even wider and tackled the tall boy, throwing him to the ground, landing on top of him. The tall boy in return tried to switch positions and succeeded. They began to tussle, throwing punches left and right.

I shared a look with Ponyboy.

_Crazy people_.

Then I realized that I was sharing a look with one of the crazy people.

"Arg," I groaned.

I was becoming a crazy person too. But it wasn't because I was crazy it was because of Ponyboy. I glared at him.

Ponyboy looked puzzled. "What?" He asked.

"Nothing." I said grouchily. "Can I go now?" I asked, "This is your brother right? He seems like he knows the way, so you aren't lost anymore."

"Nope," Ponyboy said happily, "You have to come meet my mom."

I rolled my eyes and turned to go.

Ponyboy called, "She's making chocolate chip cookies and cake!"

I paused mid step. Chocolate was a rarity. I loved chocolate, but I didn't have money to spend on frivolous indulgences such as mouth watering, sweet, god exploding food. I was saving up the money for something else.

"There's even chocolate milk." His sly voice penetrated my brain.

My head turned.

"I'll give you seconds?"

Without a moment's hesitation, I turned around and walked toward Ponyboy.

"What were you saying?" I asked.

Ponyboy grinned. He said simply, "chocolate."

Soda and the tall boy stopped fighting mid punch and looked at me.

"Who's your friend Ponyboy?" Soda asked.

"I'm not his frien-" I said and Ponyboy said at the same time, "He's Alan." We shared a tense staring match. I looked away first. Ponyboy's mouth stretched into a smile.

"Fine." I relented. It was for the chocolate milk I amended, nothing else. He was only my friend in name – really. But my chest felt like a supernova exploded in it.

Soda's eyes looked from me to Ponyboy. Then he rolled over and stood up. He grabbed Ponyboy and the tall boy and heaved them up too so that they stood.

"I'm Sodapop Curtis, but you can call me Soda" he said. Then pointing to the tall boy beside him, "And this is my hubcap stealing friend Steve Randle. It's nice to meet you Alan." Then he smiled, his face lighting up. I could tell why Ponyboy had said that his brother was tuff looking. I was surprised that girls weren't hanging off him.

"Er…" I said.

"You helped me steal it." Steve accused Sodapop.

Sodapop rolled his eyes, "But you're the one who wanted to do it. And you have a collection of them lining your room."

"Erm…" I tried again.

Steve punched Sodapop. "But you don't have to make it sound like I only steal hubcaps in my life."

Sodapop blinked innocently, "But ain't that what you do?"

Steve growled.

I sighed. "It's nice to meet you too," I muttered.

"They're like that." Ponyboy said coming to stand next to me. "Steve's my brother's best friend." He frowned. "But I don't like him, he always treats me like a baby."

"If he treats me like one," I muttered, "I'll punch him in the place where it hurts most." Ponyboy looked at me and laughed. "I'll help you. I don't argue with Steve 'cause Soda don't know how much we hate each other. But if you attack him, I can blame our attack on you."

"Thanks." I muttered.

Ponyboy smiled.

It took us more than ten minutes to walk to Ponyboy's house when it could have taken less than three minutes. His brother and Steve kept arguing, laughing, and griping about the most trivial things. Making us stop periodically. Plus, Ponyboy talked with everyone he met and when I mean everyone, there were old ladies with grocery carts, hoods who looked like they lived in jail, businessmen with jobs, and kids who needed a bath. Why did a nine-year-old kid have a need to talk to a businessman about his daughter, I would not know.

I knew some of the hoods Ponyboy talked to, but I didn't talk to them. I only knew them because they were my brother's mates in the Spivy gang. Instead, I looked like a third wheel and trailed behind Soda, Steve, and Ponyboy.

We arrived at Ponyboy's house after what seemed like forever. His house was a mix between a greaser house and a middle class one. Unlike most greaser houses that looked more like a haunted mansion, it had flowers, vegetables growing in the lawn, and the front door still on its hinges. It looked like a home that you could live in.

"Ponyboy, Sodapop, you're covered in grass!" a woman's voice shouted from inside gates.

I looked for the source of the sound.

A lovely woman with brown hair and brown eyes who looked homely, unlike most of the women I'd seen, stood on the porch. She looked like a goddess compared to the women I was used to. Those women wore a lot of make up and cloth that revealed too much skin.

"Mom!" Sodapop shouted. He ran to her, running in circles around her.

The woman laughed. "Soda! You're making me dizzy."

Sodapop said, "That's the point!"

She scolded jokingly, "Sodapop Curtis, if you don't stop right now, you won't have any chocolate cake!"

Sodapop stopped immediately and fell down in a heap, his eyes unfocused. "Yes m'am!"

"Boys…" She muttered. "You two should be more like Darrel, he at least comes home intact and clean. You two look like some hooligans!"

"But we're your hooligans! You're genes must've made us like this. And I'm sure Darry does this too when you're not looking, he's just better at hiding evidence than we are." Sodapop grinned triumphantly.

His mother frowned once more then laughed. Ponyboy grinned as well and put in his two cents worth. "At least we don't have grass stains."

His mother laughed harder. "Goodness boys, its your father's genes that made you like this, not mine. I was like Darrel."

Ponyboy made a face.

"I saw that." His mom said. Then she noticed us. "Hello Steve and…?" She trailed off.

Ponyboy immediately said, "Alan! He's my new friend."

I sighed, now succumbing to the fact that I was now this crazy boy's friend. "Hello Ms. Curtis." I said politely.

She studied me. "You look more like a girl than a boy."

I stiffened.

"Maybe if we removed this hair…" She muttered, and moved towards me, reaching her hand out.

I flinched backwards, colliding into Steve who was standing behind me. "Sorry," I said quickly, backing away from Ms. Curtis. "I-I don't…"

Ms. Curtis looked a bit hurt. "Sorry dear, I just wanted to make you look cuter."

I blushed. I didn't look cute!

"Sorry." I repeated. If it were any other woman, I'd probably have yelled at her.

"Alright boys." She said, "Would you like a snack?"

"Yes!" They screamed. I nodded.

We trekked into Ponyboy's house. Sodapop, Ponyboy, and Steve had to brush the grass and debris they had on their shirts before stepping inside, Ms. Curtis glared at the three until they did.

Their house was nice and cozy. Flower pots, half broken yet well taken care of toys lay around the living room, mixed with books and hubcaps strewn on tables and a couch. I liked it. This was better than the sterile, hospital like settings of the orphanage. The matron was a tickler for perfection. Though, I'd have to admit that Mr. Curtis's stuffed duck that was smoking looked creepy. I could see its eyes following me.

In the kitchen, a teen, more like a man, was drinking a bottle of chocolate milk. He had dark brown hair, a cowlick that stuck out at the back and wore Socy clothes, clean and brighter than most greaser clothes.

"Darry!" Soda said, "You gonna go to that game tonight?"

Darry glanced at Soda. It looked menacing. "Yeah, I'm goin' over to Paul's right now so that we can plan strategy. As co-captain of the rugby team, we need to make sure that we win. I'm sure that Whale's rugby team won't ever beat us. Why? You gonna do something about it little man?"

"Yeah, I'll moon you." Soda said.

I looked speechlessly at Sodapop. Ponyboy and Steve rolled their eyes.

Darry started to laugh. "I'll take pictures Pepsi-Cola and show it to mom."

Soda pouted. "But that'll mean that the birthmark will show."

I gagged silently. I did not need to know THAT.

Darry left, rolling his eyes as he went.

"That your brother?" I whispered to Ponyboy.

"Yeah. But he don't like me much. He only likes mom, dad, Paul and Soda." Ponyboy whispered back despondently.

I didn't have a response to that. What could I say? Suck it up and deal with it? Nobody could change people. If they liked you, they liked you, and if they didn't then they didn't. I tried changing their minds, I tried fitting in, but it never worked. At least Ponyboy had a loving mom and a brother.

Ponyboy and I didn't talk until his mom came bearing cookies, chocolate cake, and chocolate milk. I almost drooled. We attacked it. Everybody reached for the goodies that they could reach and put it on their plate. Then, they started shoveling food down their mouths. By the time we were done, everything was gone.

Steve belched. "Thank you Ms. Curtis!" He shouted to Ms. Curtis entering the kitchen.

"Thank you." I muttered.

Ms. Curtis smiled beautifully.

Soda and Ponyboy looked at each other then chorused, "No thank you!"

Ms. Curtis shook her head. "Boys, if you can't be polite, no chocolate cake for a month!"

Panicking, Soda and Ponyboy hurriedly said, "Thanks mom!"

Ms. Curtis smiled once more. "Okay, boys, go play. I need to do the dishes."

Ponyboy clasped my hand and dragged me to his room. "Do you read?" He asked.

My eyes lit up. "You read too?"

His grin getting wider, he said, "Yeah, I'm reading Oliver Twist now. But it's kind of boring. I prefer Narnia."

"I do too!"

"I wish I had a wardrobe like that. I could become a king!" Ponyboy gestured wildly, imitating crowning himself."

I smirked. "You'd be the peasant, I'd be the king."

Ponyboy's eyes gleamed. "I'd be the King because I'm taller than you."

I growled, "I'll make you shorter."

"You wish."

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Hello this is Mwahaha123 and I apologize that I wasn't able to imitate the Outsider vernacular. I tried to imitate it but the grammar and sentence structure started to look like crap. (scuse my french) If anyone wants to help me edit this thing, please PM me, I would really appreciate it. Otherwise, I'm really sorry, but it'll sound like this.

Thank You, Favorite, follow, or review PLZ XD


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